Unstable
by CornMuffinMissy
Summary: For Ava Anderson, her life is anything but normal. She not only has one leg, but she is also stuck in the Special-Needs class-all because of Neurofibromatosis, a neurological disorder causing tumors to grow anywhere within her body...summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

05/02/2012

"Get up, retard!" I jolt awake to the shrill screams of my brother Thomas. By time my eyes are open and I'm sitting up, he is stomping out of the room and slamming the door behind him. I start at the loud sound; I had an ear tumor removed a few years ago, and my ears are sensitive to loud sounds. Careful not to wake my four-year old sister Penelope, I swing my single leg over the bed and slide into my wheelchair.

After I get dressed, I roll out of my small room and into the elevator we need but can't afford. Christin is working two jobs to pay for this elevator, not to mention the other bills. But it's easier than having someone carry my heavy wheelchair down the stairs every day, that's for sure.

I wheel into the kitchen. Thomas is standing by the table, wolfing down a bowl of cereal. My step-mom, Christin is running around, preparing to leave for work. Along with her there are my siblings scurrying about collecting what they need for school. Penny is the only one not up because she doesn't have preschool for another hour or so. Christin gets Penny up right before she leaves for work; most days, our neighbors take her in. 

"Don't just sit there, Ava; move!" Christin barks. In response, I grab a banana and head for the living room, out of the way. Christin orders Thomas to bring down Rayma and Carrie, my triplet sisters. Thomas groans and charges up the stairs. I can hear him yelling and their tired responses. A few minutes later, I watch Thomas, Carrie, and Rayma come downstairs. Carrie, Rayma, and I are all triplets, but I'm so different from them both. For one, I'm not popular like them, and for another, they are beautiful. Me? Not so much. I can practically feel my skin heat up with envy when they walk into the kitchen and past me. Regardless, I can't help but study their outfits for the day.

Carrie is in a tight purple tank top and black skirt. Her matching black purse keeps slipping off her shoulder, and she lets out a dramatic sigh every time. She stops mid-walk to adjust her honey blond hair into a ponytail, and I can't help but notice how the eyeliner she is wearing brings out her golden brown eyes. Today, Carrie isn't wearing heels, although she definitely doesn't need to in the first place-she is already a startling height of 5'11. Instead, she has on flats that smack the floor as she runs into the hallway bathroom, probably to check her makeup. I don't know why, because she looks as stunning as always.

However, it is Rayma who looks drop dead gorgeous…as always. Today, her midnight black hair-something we share-is up in a bun, and her chocolate brown eyes-also a shared trait-are popping out thanks to a fair amount of eye makeup. Rayma rubs underneath her tired eyes, carefully avoiding eyeliner and blush. She stands awkwardly in the kitchen-she doesn't eat breakfast, so she has nothing to do. When Rayma catches me staring, her hand quickly starts tugging at the sleeve of her blue flannel shirt anxiously, and I quickly glance away. I wonder if she can tell how jealous I am. I mean, we are nearly identical, Rayma and I, and yet she is the beautiful one. Carrie is pretty, but in a different way. I am ugly, though.

I'd give anything just to be second best.

"Come on!" Thomas' annoying scream snatches me back into reality. I toss my half-eaten banana into the trash and follow the others out the door. Right away, the chilly October wind nips at my skin, so I pull my hood up. Keeping my head down, I coast freely down the ramp. Dad built it a few years ago. It isn't perfect, but it certainly beats the cost of a professional one.

A yellow school bus stops when I'm almost to the end of the driveway. My siblings, Zemson, Lunetta, and Blaize climb aboard. The elementary school kids stare at me through the bus windows. Their eyes are wide and innocent. I simply glare back at the children, staring straight into their eyes. I do not allow their innocence past the wall I have built around myself. I can't, because looks do not promise anything. And the middle school bus-which arrives shortly after the elementary-proves why.

Ah, middle school. These kids aren't as innocent; they don't care for me. Nearly all of them make fun of my condition. I have learned lashing back insults doesn't work, so I become emotionless, even though their yells and laughter hurts. Axel climbs on after Verena, but he stops halfway and looks at me. I narrow my eyebrows as I take in his expression: sympathy. I show no emotion to this expression. He has been worse than the kids who bully me: he does absolutely nothing as it goes on. So why would he suddenly start caring?

The high school bus arrives and I look at it with hatred. The kids on this bus aren't close to being caring or innocent. I death glare each student, refusing to flinch, even as their insults float toward my ears.

"Hey, there's retard!"

"Thomas, it's your dumb sister!"

"Oh guys I'm so sorry you have to be seen with her! It must be humiliating!"

Thomas, Carrie and Rayma are taking their time climbing aboard the bus. I find this weird because usually they rush on, not wanting to be seen with their "retarded" sister.

My answer, though, comes at once.

A girl sticks her head out of one of the windows. She has light brown hair that whips around her face. Her eyes are slit, kind of like a cat's. At first I don't recognize her, but then I spot the mole on her left cheek and immediately know who it is.

"Hi. My. Name. Is. Jessica. Do. You. Understand?" She calls out, laughing when she finishes. Cheers and high-fives reply to her statement.

Jessica.

My best friend in elementary school; that is, up until sixth grade, the beginning of middle school. Fifth grade was when I started having a lot of surgeries. Fifth grade was the year my leg was amputated; the year I received a wheelchair because I could no longer walk. Fifth grade was the year Jessica was there for me. Sixth grade was the year Jessica abandoned me for cliques and fitting in. Sixth grade was the start of depression, bullying and little hope. Although sixth grade was different, fifth grade was the year my life changed—forever.

What happened to the Jessica I know? What happened to Jessica; the one who always stood by my side and defended me when kids began questioning my constant absence? Where's the girl who used to wear glasses and help anyone, no matter who they were? No matter what they looked like? The one who would never, in her life, tease someone about this kind of thing?

What happened to Jessie, my best friend?

The bus leaves, with her still laughing and everyone still pointing. With me sitting here, on the driveway, alone.

I keep the jacket hood over my head, and my bus finally reaches my stop. It's slightly bigger than the others, and bears the number 123. Which, of course, doesn't help my situation at all.

The bus halts and as thick smoke rises out of the engine, a door opens toward the back and a heavy metal ramp clanks to the asphalt.

"Hey sweetie, how are you doing?" The bus driver, Amy, asks as she steps down the ramp.

"Okay, thanks for asking. You?" I answer, forcing a smile.

Amy grins and says, "Fabulous. Thanks." Her eyes are too happy, her smile too real. How can someone be so happy? How can someone not notice the pain behind my smile?

I don't mind, though.

Amy helps me up the ramp and into the bus. Although it's not as long on the outside, the bus is wide on the inside. It was built to hold large things such as wheelchairs. I slide into a green leather seat and help secure my wheelchair underneath. With a nod, Amy heads up to the driver's seat and I buckle myself. She looks back, checking that I'm secure, and starts the bus. With a huff, the vehicle moves forward and we're off.

I turn to my right, facing the seat beside me. My best friend Jerry is occupying the seat. He is two years older—a junior—and though we are only friends, he is insanely attractive.

Jerry is in the Special Needs class because he suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Traumatic Brain Injury. I really feel for the poor kid, too. The students don't even know what he's been through and yet they judge him because he's in this class. Just like me. I can't help but wonder what they'd do if they knew our story. Pity us? Possibly. Be our friends? Maybe. Treat us the same? That could happen. It's hard to tell, because a good part of the students at school follow the crowd, so they will treat us in the way they think is "in", not what is right.

"Hey Jerry," I greet. Jerry looks up from the book he's reading and his expression lights up. At that, joy soars through my heart. He's happy to see me! I smile softly as my best friend flips back messy black skater hair and sends a friendly smile in my direction.

"Hey what's up, Ava?" He replies. His speech is slightly slurred; a side effect of brain damage. He closes the book as his pale green eyes gaze at me, curious as always.

"Oh, you know. The usge," I shrug. Jerry nods, understanding what the "usge" actually is and shifts in his seat. All of a sudden, he has a spasm. He holds his head as his body shakes and I watch the book plummet to the bus floor. I bite my lip, making the decision to help position Jerry. I unbuckle and pull myself up. However, when the bus flies over a speed bump, I find myself in Jerry's lap. Embarrassed, I scramble to the empty space beside him and adjust his position. Two minutes pass by before Jerry sinks back into reality.

"Thanks, Ava." He mutters. He looks slightly embarrassed, and I understand. Spasms are something he is unable to control, and he hates not being in control. I smile and hug him.

"No prob." I meet his eyes and for a moment, it feels like time has paused. Jerry's eyes won't look away, and for a second, it looks like he is about to kiss me. My eyes widen as he leans in, but then the moment shatters when Amy shouts that we are at school.

Blushing, I turn away. After a few minutes, the other buses arrive and let the high schoolers off. Once those buses leave, my bus releases us. Jerry helps me into my wheelchair and I roll down the ramp. 

"Have a good day, sweetie!" Amy says as she climbs back onto the bus to assist the other riders off. I wave goodbye to her-also a thank you gesture-and begin my way toward Weston High School, the biggest school in the state of North Carolina. This school may only have two floors but it is huge and manages to hold both middle and high school. There are only two floors, but we still manage to hold 2,500 kids in all. The elementary school, which is slightly bigger, is actually just right down the road from Weston. On days my class goes outside we sometimes see morning or afternoon recess going on. The huge field that stretches around almost the whole school, stops at an encircling woods. Students often find a way to play kickball, softball, soccer, or tag there, and right now I watch them play tag. Then there's the playground, which has all the equipment every kid dreams of. That playground, let alone the school, holds so many memories. Mostly good, up until sixth grade. That was the year that started it all.

Lost in thought, I coast along the sidewalk that leads me into my own personal hell. Out of nowhere there is a crash of thunder and cold raindrops land on my head. Although the lagging students run inside, I welcome the rain drops because they are clean, fresh, welcoming.

Heavy footsteps sound from behind and I twist around to see who it is. My eyes set upon Jerry…holding my backpack. Whoops.

"Oopsies, must've forgotten that. Sorry." I give an embarrassed smile and nod in thanks. I turn back around and continue wheeling towards school.

"It's fine, Ava. We're going to the same place anyways." My friend assures me. I was about to reply when he adds in a worried, voice "Watch it!" I am jerked to a stop and then released, spinning wildly and finally landing in a patch of grass. Several people exchange snickers and mean looks, which irritates and embarrasses me.

"What the hell was that-" I stop short when I realize Jerry had saved me from crashing into the brick wall. Mortified at my outburst, I sneak a peek at my black-haired friend. He is looking down, failure clear in his light-colored eyes.

_Nice going. You know he's extra sensitive given his mom abused him. And yet…you still screw up_. A voice sneers.

"Sorry 'bout that…you s-saved me Jerry. Thanks." I mumble. I roll to the door and grab it, swinging it open. Still uncomfortable, I enter and desperately hope that I will lose him.

I cast away, trying to melt myself in with the busy hallways of teenagers trying to move about. Unfortunately, Jerry is six feet so he has a clear view of me. He is shouting my name, trying to give my bag. Normally, I would turn around and let him do so. However, I'm still humiliated, so I pretend I'm deaf. Finally, I reach my destination—the elevator.

Inside, I roll up the left sleeve of my black jacket and press one of my fingers against my wrist. Very faint bumps line up along my wrist and forearm. I can make out ugly, reddish slashes, slashes that are fresh, new. Thin white scars are visible from past cuts that happened months, even years ago. I think about the switchblade I stole from Thomas's room and how it has helped me release my emotions for the past four years. The worst part is no one knows. Jerry may be my best friend, but even he doesn't know my secret. I honestly hope to keep it that way. No one needs to worry about me.

I narrow my eyes, focusing more intensely at my wrist. There are a multiple slashes on my wrist, but my forearm tells a different story. Instead of jagged, crooked lines they're words.

_Ugly._

_Worthless._

_Fat._

_Unwanted._

_Useless.  
><em>  
>The words are uneven and overlap one another. Despite their rough script, though, I don't have trouble detecting each letter, forming each word. The elevator stops and I come back into reality. I quickly cover the markings up as the doors slide open, and I am met with a sea of teenagers. The bell rings right then though and they scurry to class. I wheel out in the middle of the chaos, and go the side. Within a minute, the hallways are empty. I head for my locker, wishing this day was already over.<p>

"Ava, could you hold on? You need your bag!" I instantly recognize Jerry's voice. I turn my wheelchair around and my heart stops for a second. I struggle to catch my breath, but what I'm looking at is so breath-taking it's impossible to do so.

Jerry's jet-black hair is slicked back, damp with sweat, which is dripping down his face. His jacket is off, revealing the plain black short-sleeved shirt he's wearing which is stuck to his chest, also moist with sweat. His arm and chest muscles ripple with masculinity. I get the feeling he had run up the stairs just for me. Any girl seeing him would agree that he is, in this moment, just plain sexy.

I slowly reach out and barely pay attention as I'm handed my backpack.

"Th-thanks," I splutter, not taking my eyes off of him.

Jerry smiles and nods his head. He starts for the stairs, where he will go one floor down, where he has his first class. He has two mainstream classes before we eat together at lunch. After lunch, we have a Special-Needs class together, and we spend our last class together in Chemistry.

"Whoa. Why the hell did you just talk to re-ah-tard, Jerry?" Someone snaps, her loud voice projecting throughout the hall: Ugh, AKA Bella Priston. Why she bothers talking to us I'll never understand. After all, she has made it clear she loathes us both. Then again, the girl is known to be a slut and whore; even though she'd never date him, she probably finds him hot. Knowing her hormones, she probably can't keep away.

Bella stomps up to me, her four-inch blue high heels clacking as she marches on. Today, Ugh is wearing a stomach-showing blue sweater, a matching blue skirt, and a blue arm glove. _Someone_ wanted to be Princess Blue today.

"Fuck off priss!" I snap. My voice is only loud enough for her and Jerry to hear.

"Shut it retard. Go to your stupid class already." Bella replies calmly. She is unaffected by my anger.

"Why don't you just get the hell away from me? I'm not in the fucking mood to talk to a slut like you. If you hate us so much, don't waste our time talking to us."

Bella's face grows red and she clenches her fist. She skitters across the hall to where I am sitting. She attempts to slap my face but I shove her away before she can.

"I don't want to fight. But I will." I tell her through clenched teeth. She raises her eyebrows; the disbelief is clear in her expression as well as a challenge to fight. The smirk that spreads across my face clearly says I accept her challenge.

Energized, I stand up. Ugh is standing only a foot away from me so I have no trouble striking her across the cheek. Bella yelps and staggers backward, crashing into a line of lockers. She has her hand up to her face, a fuming glint in her eyes.

"Oh yeah? Well…I can hit you!" Bella informs me. Her voice is pathetically tough; I had heard she was in karate but as of right now, I refuse to believe such a rumor.

I snort. "Okay, it's on. Hit me. But this time, actually meet your target." I lean against a locker for support and cross my arms.

"Ava…"Jerry trails off, unsure of my decision. I know he's worried about my safety but I have fallen before. I send my friend an, "I'll be fine. She can't beat me," look and turn back to Bella.

Bella is unproductively looking tough as she first backs up a few yards, then charges toward me. I brace myself in case I lose balance and fall. When she's within arm length, I strike a blow to her chest. The brown-haired girl stumbles back but quickly gains balance and scuttles back toward me. Her arm lashes out and brushes my face. I instinctively snatch it and resisting every urge to just snap her arm in half, pull it toward me and twist it behind her back. She lurches forward, her face next to mine.

Shaking in anger, I whisper in her ear, "I may be in a wheelchair, bitch, but I can fight. I have to deal with you every single day and for the next four years, so be lucky if by time we graduate you aren't dead or in several casts. Now do us all a favor and leave. Neither Jerry nor I like you, and nothing will ever change that. Got that?" 

I glare into Bella's eyes, searching for her reaction, and find it easily: fear.

"Answer me already, or I'll snap your arm." I threaten, tightening my grip on her arm.

"O-okay. Let me go or I can't leave." Bella whimpers. I roll my eyes, let go, and shove her away. She falls onto the floor, glances up at me one last time, and dashes away.

"Ava, that was brilliant." I glance behind me. Jerry is looking at me with a smile that could light up a whole room. Then, without warning, he walks forward and pulls me into a bear hug. Jerry's not a fat guy, but he has the body of a football player and that is just fine with me. I lay my head against his chest as his arms wrap around my torso. Breathing in my ear, he rests his head on my shoulder. Again, I feel the air between us change. I think he senses it, too, because he keeps hesitating, as though he wants to do something.

Jerry pulls away after what seems like an hour of hugging. I hobble to my wheelchair, give Jerry a tense nod and wheel to my locker. Jerry heads off, a grim smile plastered onto his face. Even though I'm smiling on the outside, I'm frowning on the inside because something feels wrong. If he wants to kiss me, why won't he? I shake my head, pushing the thought away. Maybe a couple hours apart are just what we need to break the uncomfortable tension that had settled upon us. Despite that, I look forward to spending my day with him.

Shaking away my thoughts, I collect what I need from my locker and slam the door shut. Then I roll away, counting the minutes until the day is over.


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn't take long for me to arrive at the classroom. The door is open, Mr. Bornyard greeting passersby. I nod at my teacher, but when he looks over, pity is clear on his face. No surprise there.

I roll into the room to the back corner. Two couches form around a soft blue rug. I park my wheelchair at the end of one couch and hop out, hobbling to it. I sit down and grimace. The worn out, hard cushion fails to soften my fall and the material, torn up and ratty, provides no comfort.

However, Rachel, a shy but sweet fourth grader, distracts me. Rachel lost her single mom and sister to a fire in their house last year. The fire left her with part of her face mildly burned, and partially blind in both of her eyes. Rachel developed Traumatic Brain Injury as she struggled to deal with the distressing event that changed her life forever.

The ten year-old is a new student; she was placed in here at the beginning of the school year, because she had barely passed the year before. Haunted by her past, and cursed with poor eyesight, Rachel had struggled every day. She's very smart and creative, but she was also bullied and alone, so she's in here until she is used to her new life. Now, the sweet girl is able to work at a comfortable pace and receive the therapy she needs, since she is allowed to leave early if needed. The bullying hasn't decreased, though, and Rachel is still very traumatized. Even after the temporary effects of her TBI vanish, she'll be in this class for a while.

Rachel walks up to me and crawls into my lap. She's really small for her age, so she fits almost perfectly. She curls into a ball and sniffles, and I feel the tears dampen my shirt.

"What's wrong, Hun?" I ask. I know she is bullied worse than I, and that angers me beyond belief.

"I-I rode the other bus today. No one would move over at first, so I could sit down. A girl scooted over but as I was heading to her seat, she stuck out her foot and tripped me. No one bothered to help me. Ava, why does everyone hate me?" Rachel's brown eyes are big and sad, begging for answers as she stares at me. She hides her face as more tears fall down.

I ask myself what she just asked me every day. However, she is ten. I can handle the pain; she shouldn't even know what bullying _is_. Did she _choose_ to have a house fire kill off her mom and twin sister—who happened to be her best friend? Did she _choose_ to have her dad leave her at a young age, leaving her mom to take care of the family alone? Of course not, so why would she have chosen the injuries she has now?

I growl as my hands curl into fists. I am furious. Rachel notices my reaction.

"Ava, what's wrong?"

I shake my head and ruffle her hair.

"I'm angry, that's all. I know what it's like Rach, and you don't deserve it." I hug her sympathetically.

Her next words shock me.

"But I do deserve this, Ava. I deserve everything."

Twenty minutes later, Rachel is asleep on my lap. She had begun sobbing, and it took me some time to calm her down. While she had been crying, I had is severely depressed, and, like me, feels a strong self-hatred toward herself. Luckily, I was able to convince her she was wrong about being worthless—at least for the time being. Even so, this scares me. The thought of telling her adoptive parents such a heavy secret now lies heavily on my shoulders.

"Ava, let's work on Algebra." Mr. Bornyard calls from the other side of the room. He knows what just happened, and is probably trying to distract me. Even though I know this won't help, I reluctantly agree.

One at the table, I find my homework and pull it out of my binder. Noah, another freshman, sits beside me with his own work.

"Let's get started on this. We will get work out of the way this morning, and then you can have the rest of the day to yourselves. Perhaps we can serve cookies at lunch?" Mr. Bornyard is making this compromise for Noah, who excitedly nods his head. I haven't been told what his diagnosis is, but he often acts like a little kid. I think he has Down syndrome. Noah hates school, but it has helped him a lot. Still, Mr. Bornyard made a compromise with him: if he does well during class, then he can serve cookies at lunch.

I shrug in agreement and the lesson begins.

Once we finish the lesson, Mr. Bornyard declares that it is time for lunch.

"Kay, let's go." Mr. Bornyard tells us. Once everyone has collected what he or she needs, we form a line with myself in the back. We travel through the deserted hallway, a peaceful silence having set upon us. Suddenly, Jerry skitters around the corner looking both breathless and terrified.

"Jerry, what's the matter?" I can tell by his scared eyes and red cheeks that something is horribly wrong. He runs to my side.

"M-my mom. She's here. Chasing me." He whispers. He loses balance for a second, so I grab his arm and steady him.

"Jerry, your mom is in prison." I remind him gently.

"No, I-I saw her. She said she is going to kill me. She is real, I swear." Jerry cries as he collapses onto the floor. His eyes shut and he goes limp.

Carly, the oldest student in the class comes over. She has no set diagnosis that I know of; I think she just has trouble with doing simple, every day things like eating and going to the bathroom. Her speech is poor and she's often slow to understand what people are saying. However, I know no one who is as sweet as her; I just wish people could see that instead of only looking at the difficulties she has.

"Was wong?" Her words, although slurred, don't match up the concern and kindness in her tone. Her warm green eyes fill up with tears as Jerry starts to shout nonsense. He is covering his ears and eyes, and his shouts fade into mutters.

"He's having a flashback." I murmur. Carly doesn't know the depth of what he suffers from—Traumatic Brain Injury and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but she does know about the grim combination of the two, such as flashbacks, hallucinations, spasms and slowed brain processing.

Mr. Bornyard comes over and kneels by my friend. He knows how to help Jerry, and has before.

"Jerry, don't worry. Everything is going to turn out okay. You will be all right. Just relax. Forget all your troubles." I can't hear anything else he says, for his voice lowers in volume, loud enough only for Jerry to hear. I prepare to see what I have watched before—Jerry escaping from the world he is now, and sink into reality.

Unfortunately, it's not before the sharp ring of the bell. Kids pour around us from all directions, a giant wave ready to crash. They manage to avoid the small crowd my class has formed, but not without the rude marks about Jerry.

"He's having a stupid attack!"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Freak."

"Are you okay kid?"

"Obviously he is not. Don't be a retard yourself!"

"Hey Jim, look. It's a freak show—for free!"

The last comment sets me off.

"Shut up! Shut. Up!" I whip around to glance at the student who made the comment.

"Just shut the hell up! You idiots don't know a piece of what he's been through, so why the hell are you judging him? Shut your damn mouths for once and leave us alone." There is venom in my tone, and I have shut everyone up.

To make everything worse, the silence is broken by laughter. I slowly turn around as they walk away, making comments about me.

_Failure. You're a failure._

When the last student scurries away, Jerry snaps back into reality. He has little balance when he first stands up, so he grabs my shoulder. For some reason, this accidental action sends butterflies into my belly. I shake away the unexpected feeling, focusing my attention on Jerry.

He looks up and meets my eyes, but I can't really meet his. This is because his expression is so…dead. Haunted. Empty. As if he heard the comments. And who knows, maybe he did.

Slowly, my black-haired friend comes to his feet. He has little balance at first, so a hand grabs my shoulder. For some reason, this action sends butterflies into my belly. I shake away the unexpected sensation, focusing my attention on Jerry.

"Are you a bit better now?" The look on his face tells me what I don't want to hear: no. I can tell just by his gaze that he is stressed, upset, and mad.

"Fine." I know he wouldn't have said anything differently; at the very least, he won't at school. Mr. Bornyard walks over and surveys the two of us.

"You okay, son? Do I need to call Kimi?" Once in a while Jerry has to go home after a flashback because he is in so much mental pain.

"Yeah." Jerry nods and a stand up straight; his balance and sense of everything has completely returned. He speaks once more.

"Yes, I can stay. I'm not that hungry, though." Mr. Bornyard nods in understanding and signals for us to walk. Jerry pushes my chair down the hallway, and because the line has broken up, he and I are beside two other classmates. Judging by just their expressions, I can tell I am not the only one lost in a dazed silence.

The rest of the journey to lunch is uneventful. In the cafeteria there is a table set aside for my class, so we all head in that direction. But while some go to sit down, Jerry, Carly, and myself stand in the lunch line.

When we come back, the mood has shifted from uneasy to relaxed.

I turn to Kalena, a sophomore. A car accident her freshman year paralyzed her waist down and limits her hand and arm movements. She's been taking physical therapy for about a year now, and her parents and therapist believe she's able to move to the mainstream classes soon. She'll never be able to walk again, and needs a catheter to use the bathroom which will probably require an aide later on in life, but other than that, she is most definitely ready.

"How are you?" She takes a slow, determined bite of her taco, waiting for my answer.

"Fine." I lie and shrug. I don't look at her.

_She knows you're lying. You're a filthy, horrible, rotten liar. I guess that's just another thing to add on to the list, isn't it? _

"And you?"

Kalena looks down at the table, a weird expression forming, yet she doesn't say anything. She plays with her fingers and mutters something.

"Pardon me?"

"I'm good, too." She mumbles. I raise my eyebrow, doubtful that Kalena is well; doubtful she'll even tell me what's wrong.

"Are you sure?" I push.

"Yeah. I'm fantastic." Her words are sharp, a clear sign to stop asking. Before I can say anything else, Kalena picks up her tray, the taco now gone, and heads for the trash. She dumps her trash into it, and then rolls toward the bathroom. I want to go after her, ask what's wrong. I should. It's the right thing to do. And yet, I still turn around. I still plaster on the forced smile. I still pretend to be a part of my family, to laugh at the jokes, and still act like nothing is wrong when really everything is.

We arrive back to class thirty minutes later. I feel unusually weak and tired, so I lay down on the couch. Rachel has gone home, leaving me to sleep.

_In my dream, I am running. I don't know what from, though. I can't tell where I am, either; all I see is blackness. Time seems to crawl by as I run, my legs growing tired, my breath shortening. I finally decide to give up when I feel like passing out, but then the predator leaps in front of me._

_I skid to a stop and scream. The creature terrifies me with his large, muscled body. It has two legs and two arms, but they are abnormally long and covered in matted black hair. The predator has blood red eyes, and a wicked grin that promises only pain and suffering. The animal towers over me, looking down, studying his target. Midnight black wings unfold and he swipes a clawed paw at me. I manage to avoid his knife-sharp claws, but barely. Barely._

_I have seen this creature before in my dreams._

_He is a monster, but he has only shifted into one._

_This beast can take the form of anything he wants._

_This beast…is my own personal demon._

_The demon roars as I duck from another swipe. He crouches down as though a cat, ready to pounce on its prey. _

_He is the cat._

_I am the mouse._

_The monster pushes off the ground and flies into the air. His wings balance him out in the middle of the air. He hovers, the expression on his face daring me to move. I don't. At that, he changes position and dives downward. I hold up my arms as he prepares to-_

"Ava! Ava wake up! Are you okay?" I rocket up on the couch, still screaming and writhing. Unable to control my actions, I fall off the couch. _Thud_. I wince as I hit the carpet, but sigh in relief for it calms me down. My vision, which had been blurry, clears up and when I glance up, Jerry comes into my line of sight. His face is painted with concern. My hearing still hasn't fully recovered, so his words are distant and slurred.

"Ava, sweetie. Are you okay?" Somehow I find my voice. I wince as a sharp pain jolts through my head, and inwardly groan; for the past few weeks, I've been getting really bad headaches every day. I guess this is the next one.

"I—I….don't know. What happened?" I hold onto my head, closing my eyes.

"You fell asleep…started scr-screaming and thriving. We-we didn't know why. You were like that for five minutes. Nothing we did helped; we couldn't even get n-near you. Teacher tried…you slapped him in the face. Ava, ca-can you tell me why you were acting like that? Do you know at all?" It takes me at least two minutes to process all of what he was saying…everything felt so real. Yet…I know I was dreaming. I know it wasn't real, but I _don't_. I open and close my mouth several times, debating on what to tell Jerry. He is my best friend after all, but I don't want him worried about me.

_Like he'd ever be worried about you, retard. Don't be such a dumbass_

"I don't know. I can't remember…it's all a big fuzzy image." I mumble. I avoid his eyes, but catch the mixture of emotions on his face. I detect doubt among the concern and hurt, but it eventually leaves. Eventually, he nods and helps me up, and somehow we get on with our day.


	3. Chapter 3

When I arrive home, my temper is high. What with Jerry's flashback and then my nightmare, today wasn't good at all. Actually, today has been worse than usual.

Christin swings open the front door as I hop up the steps. As usual, my step-mom looks stunning. Her black hair is damp from her shower and is styled in a simple bun. She has on a white shirt and gym shorts, but in her duffel bag are clothes for modeling. Christin is definitely model material, and I'm glad she chose this road instead of becoming a prostitute, like my birth mother.

"Babysit your siblings. Thomas, Rayma, and Carrie are out with friends. They should be home no later then nine. Spaghetti is on the counter; you can make that for dinner. I'm going to a runway show; I should be home before midnight." Anger pulses through my veins. Do I not deserve a hello? I want to snap a reply, maybe make it noticeable that she didn't even say hi, but I don't. I don't even bother to respond because after she lifts my wheelchair up the front steps, she's already halfway down the driveway. I watch her walk down the driveway, duffel bag and purse in each hand. She slips in the car, starts the engine, and then whisks away. I close the door and wheel into the living room.

I park in the main hallway to take off my jacket and shoe. From the hallway, I am able to look into the living room and kitchen. Lunetta and Benjamin, nicknamed Blaize, are watching television, and Axel is on the rocker reading through a textbook. In the kitchen Verena and Penny are making themselves a snack, and I can hear Zemson on our ancient computer yelling, probably at some computer game.

It is times like this that I enjoy my family; we are all at peace and everyone forgets that I am the outcast. Nobody remembers the medical bills have taken over my parent's lives and we basically can't afford the two-story house we live in. Nobody remembers the kids at school telling them to tease me, encouraging the pain I have to face.

I move into the living room and must have bumped into something because Lunetta turns around and her face lights up. She jumps up from the couch and watches as I easily hobble into an armchair. Once I'm seated and comfortable, I let the five year-old crawl into my lap.

"Hi Ava." She says.

"Hey buddy." I murmur, kissing her head. I push back her long brown hair, wincing at the permanent bruise on the back of her neck. The bruise her foster dad gave her before he dropped her off on the side of the road as though she was trash. She was naked and bloody, but it's not like he cared. Of course, that isn't surprising because he was, after all, sexually, physically, and emotionally abusive to his foster kids. They are saved now, thank God. Lunetta had the worst damage, and the doctors say it is a miracle she survived what she went through. She is even lucky enough to not remember it, either, and they said that is unusual. I'm glad she doesn't though, because no one deserves to know, let alone meet that fucking bastard.

I snap out of my angry thoughts and look at Lunetta.

"How was school today?"

"It was pretty good. We learned new words and watched a movie. Max and me played on the swings at recess and it was really fun. Oh, and we drew pictures. Wanna see mine?" I nod and she dashes into the kitchen to grab her picture.

While I am waiting, I come to realize how awkward it is with Blaize and I. He doesn't look at me, nor does he speak. He is only in second grade, but already the kids have poisoned his mind. The thing is, they didn't teach him to bully me; no, he has been taught to ignore me and act like I don't exist, even at home. I find this worse because I'd rather deal with insults than silence; I can tune out nasty words, but silence is loud.

Luckily, Lunetta is only gone for a minute. She comes back, a giant smile on her face. I am handed the picture and take a look at her drawing. She has drawn a night sky, covered with tiny little stars that are next to a crescent moon. Toward the bottom are mountains, made to look distant. My eyes gaze over the picture at a girl, around my age. She is facing away from the mountains, sitting on the grass. Long dark hair covers part of her face. Her hands hug two legs. Her expression is sad, lonely.

"It's beautiful." I murmur.

"Thanks. We were supposed to draw something that we saw in our siblings." She says it so calmly that I raise my eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…you always seem so miserable sissy. The kids are mean to you…Sometimes I wonder if you would be sad even if you had both legs." I am silent with shock. Lunetta can see I am bullied, and she can also detect the depression I try to hide. Is she the only one? I bite my lip, not sure what to say.

"Please don't be sad Ava. I hate seeing you upset." Lunetta wraps her arms around my waist; she is oblivious to my stunned state. I manage to hug back, praising her once more at her obvious talent.

"I…I will try sweetie, I will try." This is a promise. A promise to myself, but it is mostly a promise to my younger sister. With Lunetta curled up in my lap and that promise locked in her heart, we silently watch T.V.

In the middle of a commercial, Zemson walks in.

"My turn." His words comes out in a growl, but I'm not scared. Lunetta, however, is startled.

"But I—" She breaks off when the remote is snatched out of her hand. Zemson flops into one of the armchairs and changes the channel from SpongeBob to a football game.

"Zemson, give the remote to your sister. It's not your turn." I say firmly.

"Who cares? You can't do anything about it, retard." He sneers.

"Says who?" I retort.

"Anyone. No one is going to listen to you, and I can easily make you the bad guy." He ducks away as I make a grab for the remote. My hand brushes the tip of it, but I'm unable to grasp it.

"That isn't—" I stop as I realize he is right. I always end up looking like the bad guy in these situations.

"See, I'm right. You'll never be important in this family. No one even loves you, Ava. Right Blaize? Am I correct Lunetta?" I relax a bit as we realize Blaize has left, but now we are focused on Lunetta. I know Lunetta thinks of me as her role model; I expect her to defend me, say my little brother is wrong. There is a look in her eyes that I know too well. A look that tells me she is either too embarrassed to admit she likes me or she has lied about it all. A look that I will to go away but doesn't.

This look simply tells me "yes".

Zemson smirks at his victory while my self-esteem is shattered. It takes everything I have to not cuss him out-he is only seven and already hears enough nasty things. Besides, I'm not going to participate in destroying Lunetta's mind.

"Whatever." I hiss. Zemsons' eyes meet my own, and I try to hold his gaze, but I can't. The pure hatred blazing in his eyes hurts. It really, truly hurts.

Just then Axel walks in. His head is down, feet crossed uncomfortably. He opens his mouth as though to say something, but decides not to. This pisses me off.

"What do you want?"

"I-I was just wondering if you need help making dinner-when you're going to I mean." He stammers.

"I've been doing it for four years by myself. I think I know how to cook spaghetti by myself. And besides, since when do you care?" I answer coldly.

"Damn retard. Thought you could use help. Might need some, so I was just wondering." Axel mutters as his fingers wring together.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I mouth, barely keeping myself from screaming it aloud. Axel doesn't answer though, avoiding my gaze.

The thirteen year-old leaves and I shake my head, the anger boiling inside. Lunetta leaves as well, seeing I still don't want to talk to her. Zemson, catching the opportunity, mutes the TV and faces me.

"I don't know who you think you are Ava, but don't you _dare_ think you are a part of _my_ family. You are worthless, Ava. _Worthless_. You need to get that damn straight." The seven year-old's words are bullets. Where has he heard insults like this? He shouldn't be saying things like this, not at his age.

_Oh please. He's only telling the truth. _A girl's voice pops into my mind.

'I know it's true. But it doesn't change the fact that he is seven years old. He shouldn't be hearing things like this, let alone saying them.' I point out.

_It's your fault. If you weren't alive, he'd be perfectly fine. _She snaps, shutting me up.

Then Zemson gives a wicked grin and leaves the room with me now more broken than ever before.


	4. Chapter 4

A few hours later I roll into the kitchen to prepare dinner. I have managed to block out my feelings through chores around the house. Now, however, I am alone and the voices fade in.

_Retard._

_Why can't you just die now?_

_Zemson said it himself._

_You're so stupid._

"Damn it, not now." I mutter as I take out the rest of the ingredient

_ Oh, you know you love this_, one chuckles. It's a girl, and she's my age. I can tell she's smiling from the sound of her voice.

"No, I don't." I growl, searching for noodles.

_ Ha sweetie. There is no need to lie._

"Go away!"

"No." The sudden coldness in the voice makes me freeze. I bite my lip and turn on the stove. The fire crackles to life and as the flames lick at the air, shouts echo in my head.

_ It'll help. _

_ Pain distracts._

_ Pain releases the anger._

_ You deserve it._

_ No one has to know._

_ "It's worth it; why would you deny that_?" I set the box of noodles down and grip the edge of the counter. The chorus is earsplitting, giving me a massive headache

"I don't need to do this. It's not real. The voices aren't real." I murmur repeatedly, but of course it doesn't work. Whether the voices are real or not, I now want to do it...very badly. I bend down and open the cupboard beneath the stove. I find the pot I am looking for and ever so sneakily move my arm into the flame…

"Ava, what are you doing?" I spin around at the sound of Penny, my three year-old sister.

"I-I burnt myself by accident. Set the pot down, my arm moved into the flame…"I trail off as my sister, thank God, nods in understanding. I move to the sink and run cold water down my now red flesh. A stinging pain runs along my forearm and when Penny glances away, a smile spreads on my face. It felt so damn good.

"I'm all right honey. Go on now and play." I nod towards the door and Penny leaves.

I continue to prepare supper, rage building up inside like lava in a volcano. I am angry that the kids at school think it's okay to teach my younger siblings how to bully, and my older ones are stupid enough to believe it. I am angry with them for changing Zemson into a monster and already working on Lunetta. Mostly, though, I am angry with myself for believing my family loved me.

Five minutes later, dinner is ready. I call everyone and we gather around the table. With our heads bowed and hands folded, Penny leads us in prayer.

"Lord thank you for a good day and food on the table. We pray that all those whom are suffering are given the guidance and love they need from you. We also pray to continue following you and your ways. Amen." She finishes and I am, like always, confused. If there is a God, why has he allowed depression, suicidal thoughts and bullying? I am glad I met Jerry, but is everything else the cost of having a best friend?

I don't care if the bullying makes me stronger; I just want to be happy.

Shaking away my thoughts, I take of bite of spaghetti. Aside from Thomas, Carrie, and Rayma, everyone is gathered around the table. I am invisible to my siblings as they engage in conversations, but I am used to it. So I listen to Blaize, Penny, and Lunetta excitedly discuss Halloween next Thursday, a week from today. Zemson and Axel are talking about a TV show I've never heard of, and Verena is texting her friends.

I finish eating and hobble to my wheelchair. Once seated, I roll around our large table, collecting everyone's dirty dishes. Verena silently helps me, an unspoken arrangement we had made years ago.

Once I'm finished with the dishes, I make my way over to the elevator. When I am upstairs, I head for the room I share with Penny and Verena. I have the room to myself for now, though, because both are outside playing.

I dig around in my backpack and pull out my mp3 player. I find one of my favorite songs and am right on cue with Adam when he starts singing. The lyrics filling my mind, I lose myself in Three Days Grace, my all time favorite band.

Just then, the front door slams shut, loud enough to break me from the song. Startled, I leave the room so I can see who it is.

Rayma is limping up the steps. Her eyes are red, makeup running, and her styled hair from this morning is down in a messy mane around her head. Long, loud sobs escape from her chest, and she rubs away the tears, straightening her slightly uneven top. I gasp; is that a bloodstain on her shirt?

I try to hide back in my room like I've seen nothing, but it's too late. Rayma sees me as she walks by my room, and the look in her eyes I am taken back by. I open my mouth, but shut it again with the realization I have nothing to say. Why should I, anyway? She has played a huge part in my bullying, including the start of it. In fact, she was one of my closest friends before everything happened, but, like everyone else, she abandoned me. Why should I sympathize for her when all she has done is hurt me?

Having remembered this, I do nothing as slams the door to her room. I want to feel happy for pretending not to care, for taking the chance of revenge. I should feel proud.

So why do I feel so rotten?


	5. Chapter 5

"Come on Ava. One more time. You really need to stretch your back, dear." The hand of my physical therapist, Kari, rests on my back as I make another attempt to touch my toes. I wince at the aching pain that shoots down my back. Only one hour of therapy and already I am more sore than I should be. Of course, my back is only tight and sensitive because of the countless number of surgeries I've had to remove tumors and Scoliosis. However, stretching has helped my back more than Kari or I can describe, so I continue to do it.

"Good job, Ava." Kari praises as my fingers brush my ankles. I can't help the grin that turns my mouth upward. This is a first time for me; perhaps therapy is worth it after all. Kari and I only meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but each session has become more intense as I improve my flexibility and posture over the months.

"Okay, we're all done for today since you did so well. I'll see you on Tuesday. Have a good weekend!" Kari waits for me to change back into jeans in the locker room, and then helps me into my wheelchair. I wave to her as I exit the gym, feeling refreshed.

Now that I'm in the hall, I wheel to a water fountain. After taking several gulps of water, I lean back and find myself being watched by two middle school girls that are dressed exactly alike, although they are physically different. Both girls are wearing skinny jeans, a shirt with some boy pop band I've never heard of, and black flats. Their hair is pulled back into a French braid and their makeup reminds me of a raccoon.

Their clothes and makeup does not annoy me, though. It is the look of embarrassment and hatred in their eyes that bothers me. A look I always receive, but am for some reason not used to.

"Yes? Is there something you need to say?" I snap. I have moved away from the water fountain in case that is what they wanted. However, neither girl has moved an inch.

"Believe it or not, I can talk. And move around. I'm _not_helpless." I growl. Still nothing. I roll my eyes.

"Are you sure about that? You _are _in a wheelchair." The taller of the two girls sneers.

"Yes, because in case you haven't noticed, I only have one leg. You would be in one too if you had to have it amputated because of a giant tumor in your leg the doctors couldn't remove." I wonder why I told it all to the two girls. Maybe that would make them understand? Maybe it would stop their rude comments? I shake my head and sigh softly. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I maneuver the wheelchair around the two, not waiting for a response.

"But I wouldn't go emo over it." I freeze, moving my eyes to my arms. I gasp. My arms are uncovered, revealing the slashes all over both of my arms. I feel around for my jacket and find it hanging over the back of the chair. I recall taking it off after PT. I curse in my head as I cross my arms, trying to hide the marks. It's no use, though. The girls have already seen the evidence.

What am I supposed to say to that? They're right. They are one hundred percent right that I am "emo". But it isn't because of the surgery, though. No, it's because of the bullying. How do I explain that to two girls though, who don't even care _why_ my leg was amputated?

"See, the freak knows she's wrong." Taller girl elbows her friend, laughing. Her companion smiles, but it's not real. She looks almost…_hurt_. Although her face is smirking, her eyes hold the look of someone who doesn't agree, of someone who understands. Knows what it is like.

That doesn't change anything, though. Since I can't think of a clever retort, I let a long line of cuss words roll off my tongue.

But when I leave, the two girls are laughing again, as though everything I just said doesn't affect them.

xXXx

After receiving permission from my teacher, I head to a porch on the second floor of the school. The porch is circular, hugging the school like a protective shield. Tables and chairs are scattered around, and at lunchtime for the seniors, this area is crowded. Now, however, only kids in my class or study hall are allowed here. Fortunately, I am alone. 

I lean back in my chair and relax. Today has been better than yesterday, and it _is_ Friday. The weekend is inviting, even though there is a high chance of it sucking. Home is better than school. Anywhere is better than school. 

I turn around at the sound of a door closing shut and scuffling feet. It's Jessica to my great disappointment.

While Jessica's face contains shock, mine is calm. Emotionless. No smile, but no sad or angry frown. It is only a straight line. I hold her gaze for what seems like a minute before she looks away. I smirk at first, but it quickly fades.

"Is there something you want?" I demand when I realize at least two minutes have passed with neither of us moving or saying anything. Jessica merely stands there, uncomfortable and certainly not expectant of this situation.

"This isn't your porch." She says sharply.

I scoff. "No. It's not. But you aren't allowed here regardless."

"I don't think they'll care, Ava." She shrugs. 

"Well, while I know for a fact that you are wrong, I'm not going to argue over something this stupid. What I don't get is why the hell you're talking to me if you're supposedly embarrassed to even know me. Two-faced much? I don't want to talk to you in the first place, so get the hell away from me."

"Excuse me? You do not tell me what to do. And shouldn't it be the retard that leaves?"

"I may be a retard, Jessica, but at least I'm not a backstabbing, lying bitch." I sneer. Jessica's expression falls, but it's only for a mere second.

"I'm not either one, stupid. I simply realized you weren't good enough to be my friend." Her rude reply is similar to the ones my old "friends" used, the other ones who also discarded me in sixth grade.

"I wasn't good enough for you even though I saved your life? That's saying something." Jessica frowns as she takes in the truth, that day reflecting clear in her eyes.

_"Jessica, watch out!" I screamed. I watched in horror as my best friend bent down in the middle of the road to pick up the tennis ball we had been using. She heard my scream and looked up. Her mouth opened but no sound came out as she took in the sixteen-wheeler roaring toward her. I saw the form of the driver's head leaning against the steering wheel and figured he had to be asleep._

_I shouted for Jessica to move once more, but she was like a deer in the headlights. So, without hesitation, I rocketed into the road. I collided with Jessica, and we crashed to the ground. Both of us rolled down the side of the street and into the gutter. My eleven year-old friend began crying softly, holding one of her arms. I checked us both out: we were cut up and bleeding__,__ but aside from Jessica's possible broken arm, we were fine._

_The two of us watched as the driver skidded to a stop, the front of his truck just inches away from someone's mailbox. His foot must have slipped off the gas by accident, because there was no way he could have done that purposely in his mind state. A few people crowded around his car, screaming and frantically talking. They pounded on the door of his car, but he didn't come out. Jessica's mom arrived at her side, tears pouring down her face. I also recognized my own mom and a few of my siblings in the crowd; all of them had shock clear in their expression.  
><em>

_My next-door neighbor, Mr. Dickens, dashed over, holding the phone to his ear. I knew from his conversation that he was on the phone with 911, and a few minutes later, the police and an ambulance arrived. Two officers walked over to the truck and broke in, pulling the driver out. To no one's surprise, he was very drunk. They had awoken him and he stumbled and slurred, confused and obviously not aware of what had happened. They drug him to their car, where he was pushed in and locked up._

_A few minutes later, the policemen walked over to where we were and spilled out questions, and Jessica's mom kept hugging us, thanking me for saving her only daughter's life. At that realization, I started crying and everybody was saying it's okay, that I was a hero, that I should be proud._

_The look in my friend's eyes is what stood out most, though. She did not thank me verbally, but I understood. A verbal thanks is not enough when you save someone's life. It's not even close to enough.  
><em>

_Something changed, instead. A good change. Jessica seemed to be more grateful for everything. Especially our friendship._

_At least, up until sixth grade._

That day now fresh on my mind, I speak. "You aren't worth my time, Jessica. I don't regret saving you—you know what I do regret, though?" I pause, taking an angry breath.

"I regret thinking you were my friend, and that you were amazing and whatever else I saw. In reality, you aren't a true, awesome, beautiful person. Instead, you're a lying, selfish scumbag who abandoned me when I needed you. But you know what? I don't wish that the driver had hit you. I wish I wasn't the one who saved your life. It wasn't worth it in the end. Never will be." Wiping the anger off of my face and not giving her a chance to answer, I wheel off the porch and back into the school.

The bell rings as soon as I enter and I groan as kids leak out of classrooms. I stay to the side, away from the chaos. I am trying to figure out how to get to Chemistry when someone shoves against me. This causes confusion as my chair rolls into the sea of students, the brake unlocked. Several cry out, but most just curse at me. I ignore them and wheel back to where I was.

I'm glancing around to see who shoved me when I realize a crowd has semi-circled around me. I am squeezing through an open space when someone yanks me backwards and into the middle of the semi-circle. I realize he had just said something, but I hadn't heard him over the chatter of spectators.

"Hey, freak. Didn't you hear me?" I look up into the face of a really tall guy with heavy muscles and monkey-like ears. He is breathing heavily and I recognize him as one of the school's senior football players. I think his name is Adrian or something.

"My fake apologies. I don't listen to those I dislike." I respond with a sneer. Several gasps follow.

"Excuse me, _what _did you just say to me?" The senior whispers into my ear. I cough when I accidently take a whiff of his breath.

"Do you even know who I _am_?" He growls, not waiting any longer for an answer.

"Yeah, you're a football player. I don't really care. So, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to class." I snicker at the guy's gaped mouth and am not the only one—his goons have the same reaction as me. As I wheel away, the crowd parts. I am astonished and the shock continues when they congratulate me for standing up and offer high fives. I return the gesture weakly. Is this what it feels like to be accepted? It's the best feeling in the world; that's for sure.

I make it to class just as the bell rings. Jerry is already seated, and he looks excited. I sit down and wait expectedly.

"Rumor has it you stood up to Alex Lemit."

"So _that's_ his name. Yeah, I suppose I did. I was just pissed; needed to let him know." I giggle, my cheeks heating up slightly.

"This is why I love you, Ava." Jerry grins. I laugh and accept his amazing bear hug.

"Jerry, Ava. Pay attention." Both of us break away, embarrassed, at the sound of our teacher, Ms. Kinyan.

"Now, most of you did well on the test. However, there are still some that failed. All of _you_ will see me after school. Especially those who did especially poor." I chuckle as she glares at Annaleigh, a prissy cheerleader.

"There is one person who got a one hundred. I am very proud of this student and feel she should be-"

"No need to _thank_ me. I tried my best and see where it got me? Just be like me and—"

"That's enough, Morgan. You didn't get the 100; your score was a 90." Jerry and I, along with the rest of the class, laugh as the brunette sits down, muttering something about that not being fair. Morgan is incredibly smart, and, like me, is in an advanced class. She skipped tenth grade, although I am older than her. Even though we are the smartest kids in the class, there is a difference in how we take it—she is stuck up about it; I try to keep quiet. The teachers, who usually love Morgan, have begun to dislike her this past school year.

"Quiet down class." The teacher yelled over us; our laughter has changed to loud talks. After a few more yells, we calm down, and she passes back our tests.

"Now, the person that _did_ receive a perfect score continues to prove herself of taking this class at a such a young age." She pauses and stops at my desk as all heads turn to look at me.

"Good job, Ms. Anderson. While your body may be incapable of something like jumping or running, your mind certainly functions well above the average one." I freeze up when she says that. I know Ms. Kinyan likes me, but I have never been told I am good enough before.

_Because you aren't._

_You're worthless…always will be._

_She's lying._

_Don't believe her._

"Th-thank you." I stammer and look at the grade while trying to push back the taunts. Even though Morgan and her friends are claiming I cheated, it doesn't stop me from grinning. Even though I know the voices are right, this has still made my week.

xxXxx

The final bell rings and Jerry and I are the first ones out of the chemistry classroom. To my satisfaction, the rest of chemistry went really well as did the rest of the day. My argument with Jessica is in the back of my mind as are the two girls I had come across.

Jerry pushes me through the busy commons and into the elevator. Even though I hate being pushed, it's faster to get through this way.

We make it to the bus within a few minutes. Jerry helps me into my seat and after everyone else is on, the bus takes off.

Only five out of ten of us ride the bus, including Jerry and I. Carly lives out in the country, so the forty minutes to her house and back is what makes our ride pretty long.

I pull out my iPod and Jerry and I listen to music as Carly, Josh, and Kalena are dropped off.

Then it's Jerry's turn. We pull into a neighborhood with large houses and even

mansions, Jerry's being one of the mansions. As we head for his stop, Jerry, like always, gets an uncomfortable look on his face. Since his mom is in his jail and his dad is dead, he lives with his aunt whom is very rich. He knows my family is on the edge of poor, but doesn't understand it's not his fault. I rest my hand on his shoulder reassuringly, and he relaxes slightly.

"Hey, want to hang out his weekend? Maybe Sunday?" He asks suddenly. The bus slows to a stop and he stands up, backpack in his hand.

"That would be awesome!" I nod my head in enthusiasm. He beams and heat rushes to my cheeks. Why is he so happy around me lately?

"Kay, so see you around then." He avoids my gaze as though he is embarrassed. Not of me, though—of himself. He scrambles off the bus and I lean back, now confused.

"Boys, crazy things." I mutter. The bus takes off again and Jerry heads for the driveway, an odd expression painted on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

The doorbell chimes inside Jerry's house and I tap my fingers on my knee, eager to see my best friend. I study the beautiful glass window above the door while waiting. It is like a church window; it looks multi-colored, but that is due to the angle of study and reflection of the sun. Today the window is a deep red with hints of orange and yellow tied in. Suddenly, the door swings open and I jump, startled.

"Hi Kimi!" I acknowledge merrily. It's impossible not to love Jerry's aunt and her crazy clothes. Today she has her hair up in a tall bun with temporary green streaks. Her clothes consist of a wacky dress of various colors, and five-inch heels. I have met several of Jerry's neighbors, and Kimi is the only one whom is crazy and fun. While the others prefer sophisticated clothes and dinner parties, Kimia loves wacky dresses and thrill rides. Not to mention she absolutely adores me.

"Ava, Ava, dear. It is an absolute pleasure to see you!" Kimi cries as she embraces me in a hug. Her Irish accent is thick, something that makes her even more wonderful.

"Come darling. Have some tea, a biscuit too." She waves at me to follow her and I do so.

Kimi's kitchen is the second biggest room in her house. She has all the normal kitchen appliances, along with a giant playpen in the corner. Usually her two golden retriever puppies, Mikey and Amber, are in the pen, but they aren't right now. There are barks from outside, so I figure they are playing. Locking my chair by the counter, I stand and watch Kimi finish making the tea.

"Jerry will be down in a minute, sugar. So tell me, how has your day been? Your weekend so far been well?" She hands me a cup and I take a sip. The timer beeps and she runs over to take out the biscuits. She sets the homemade treat down on one of the stove racks, an incredible scent flowing through the kitchen.

"I'm good. Yesterday was fine." I answer.

"That's absolutely glorious, darling. Now, where is that homemade jelly I had made?" As Kimi searches for another one of her scrumptious creations, someone stumbles down the stairs. I glance at the sound and chuckle. Jerry is in gym shorts, no shirt, and he is half asleep, his hair clearly screaming bed-head.

"Jerry, Hun did you not hear me yelling that Ava is coming? You're half-dressed and barely awake." Suddenly wide-awake, Jerry scrambles behind his aunt. Jerry is six feet and growing, while Kimi stands at a stable 6'5; however, the sides of my friend still peek out from behind Kimi.

"Now what in the dear world is wrong, boy?" Kimi laughs and steps aside and I can't help but examine Jerry. Even though I'm trying to focus on his face, my eyes still peer at his muscles. He clearly has them, and I can easily tell he works out by his fit figure. Naturally, his muscles are hot and very attractive, but his tomato red cheeks stand out even more.

"Well say hi Jerry." Kimi pushes, shaking her head. She is obviously amused by her nephew's strange behavior.

"Ava, um. Hi." Jerry stammers. When Kimi vanishes, my heart speeds up at the knowledge of being alone. I push it away, though, not wanting to think about why my body is misbehaving.

"Hey there sleepyhead. Were you still lost in your dreams when Kimi said I was on my way?" I tease with a friendly wink.

"Yes, but my dreams cannot match up to the one who interrupted them." Jerry winks back. Kimi then reappears with a black shirt that Jerry gladly pulls on. Once his body is hidden, he comes over to hug me.

"Oh look at you two. Y'all would make the cutest couple." Kimi says with a dreamy sigh. We yank away at once.

"What?" We say simultaneously. Kimi shakes with laughter. Her laugh is loud and it goes on for a good minute before she speaks once more.

"You two. Never mind." Jerry and I exchange a glance as she wipes away a tear.

"Thanks, ma." Jerry mutters, using his favorite nickname for Kimi. He has this weird look on his face; one I have been seeing more and more often but still can't read.

"Come on, Ava. Let's go to my room. Get away from my crazy aunt." Jerry says and I follow him to the spiral staircase. His floors are carpeted so it's slightly easier to climb up without a wheelchair, but situations like these always make me grateful that my own house has an elevator.

Jerry's room is small compared to the other rooms in his house. The walls are painted a navy green and posters of his favorite bands line the wall. His bed, usually made, is messed up, only bits of his Metallica comforter showing. I scan the top of his dresser and notice a few new pictures on it. One in particular stands out; it is of a young man, woman, and child. The man, no older than 30 has warm blue eyes with a smile to match. His arms are wrapped around a pretty woman, no older than he, who has long dark hair and piercing green eyes, just like Jerry's. On the man's shoulders is the child, with messy black hair and a smile missing his two front teeth. He looks to be about five, maybe six. Something is familiar about the boy's smile, hair and eyes. Especially the smile…I move to his desk chair and sit down. Then I pick up the photo and closely examine it.

"So how did you get here?" Jerry asks. He is in his closet, doing something. I push my hair back, carefully, setting the frame down on my lap for the time being.

"Well, we had Church as you know and pass by your house. Since Thomas's girlfriend lives here, I convinced mom to drop me off. Hey, Jerry, are who are these people?" I hold up the photo for Jerry to see and his smile fades quickly.

"They…the woman is who my step mom would have been; Lydia. The man is my dad." He sits down on his bed across from me and rubs his head.

"You know how my mom abused me?" I nod.

"Well…there's more to my past. You're my best friend and I trust you—you deserve to know."

"My dad was killed on September 11th. He was a New York City firefighter. When the second plane hit the World Trade center, he was called in to help. He went in up the seventh floor. But he saw his girlfriend, Lydia. She worked there. He ran in on her being burned alive. He managed to save the others but once he was done, he just stood there, watching. My dad…he couldn't do anything. Not as the flames ate at her flesh, as the building burned around him. Not as his mates tried to get him out. They were yelling at him; screaming at him."

"But he never came out because he was frozen. Frozen as she fell to the floor, screaming with agony. Frozen as the flames licked the walls and built a wall around the two, blocking off his mates. And frozen as—" Jerry pauses and takes a shaky breath.

"He was frozen as part of the roof and walls collapsed, burying both Lydia and himself. Ava, I was only six. But the memories…they are as clear as water. And I miss them both, mostly my father, so-so much. I—I could have parents. But I don't. I never will." Jerry whispers, and then he begins to cry softly. His body is quivering with sobs and tears trickle down his face. He is literally shaking. I force myself to keep his gaze when he looks at me—his expression has never reflected so much pain and sadness. I can even see the day in his eyes; see the burning towers and scared faces of the two people in his photo.

"Oh my gosh, Jerry. I…I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what that must have been like, to lose two people like that. That's just…unbearable. I…I'm so so so sorry." I hug Jerry and he presses his face in my shoulder, weeping. This is the first time I've ever seen Jerry cry, and it is literally painful. I hold him close to me, whisper comforting words because that's the only I can do and really, it's the only thing I know Jerry wants.

xXXxx

Four hours later, at five-o-clock, Jerry and I come downstairs. Kimi is busy sewing a sweater, but she glances up at our arrival.

"Need something?" She asks and stands up expectantly. Jerry rubs at his puffy red eyes. Kimi most likely sees, but she says nothing.

"I need to take Ava home. I'm just going to head out. Can I have the keys? " Jerry asks. He can be extremely forgetful at times, so Kimi keeps the keys for him.

"Yes, of course." Kimi looks through her purse sitting on the kitchen table. She tosses Jerry the keys and, after situating myself in my wheelchair, we head outside.

Jerry helps me into his cute black punch buggy, and then squeezes my folded chair into the back of his car. It doesn't take him much longer after that to turn on the engine, back down the driveway, and proceed to my house.

xxXxx

1:00 A.M. I roll around in bed, searching for a comfortable position. Staying up until 1:00 is normal for me; I am usually up until three, sometimes four.

I will much rather be asleep and I try yet again—close my eyes, relax my mind. No luck, though, for insomnia, like always, wins.

My thoughts trail off to my birth mother. Where she is, I don't know. Probably Vegas like all the other prostitutes. She divorced with my dad when he realized that's what she wanted to do with her life, and luckily, he gained our custody. By then, Axel, Thomas, Rayma, Carrie and myself were born. Dad, for some reason, had no money so for about a year we lived on the streets. None of us were older than ten, myself being only three. Finally, Jenna, one of his co-workers, came to the rescue right before winter began and right after my fourth birthday. They were together for a year, before Zemson was born, just a few days before my fifth birthday. Since they had a child, they decided to marry, and two years later, Blaize was born. Things didn't last long after that. We found out Jenna had been cheating on my dad, and he divorced her, taking us kids out of the house. His childhood friend, Marie, was very understanding of our situation and took us in. Unsurprisingly, the two started dating. The five of us kids were so hopeful-we just knew Marie had to be the one. Well, our hopes were crushed when just three months after she took us in, she was murdered. I was only eight and had already experienced divorce, homelessness, fights, the death of a loved one, and several surgeries for my NF-but that's a different story.

By then, my dad was messed up. He was never abusive to us, but we knew better than to set him off because his temper was scary. I don't remember much because by then I was only seven, but I know he became depressed and attempted suicide. His attempt landed him in the hospital and while he was receiving the help he needed, a friend at work started helping.

This friend was Christin. Once dad came back the two worked together to build a family. Christin already had two daughters, so it was an even bigger family to manage, but somehow they got through. Eventually, the two married and Penny was born a few years later, but now dad is so messed up he rarely comes home. It isn't that he doesn't love Christin—he does, but the bills are high and nearly impossible to afford, which freaks him out. He always has to work. I hope one day Dad will come home and spend time with the family. I really bonded with him in fifth and sixth grade, and I miss it.

I groan. I'm exhausted beyond belief—hearing about Jerry's past earlier wore me out.

The next few hours crawl by, exhaustion slowly overpowering insomnia. Finally, at four A.M., I drift into a dreamless, light doze.


	7. Chapter 7

_Free. I am free. I have two legs. Two feet, that pound in sync, on the cool, soft grass. My long hair flows out behind me, my arms spread out. I am laughing because I have never felt so happy. No longer do I feel trapped. No longer am I sad._

_The grassland ends and I find myself running towards a cliff. I am not scared, though. My wings unfold and I catch a glimpse of them spreading to their full length. They are stormy gray with brown specs dotted around the middle. No wings are more beautiful than mine. No one is more beautiful than I. I feel only self-confidence and happiness, for voices don't break my train of thought. They do not crush my self-esteem. I am not shattered glass, but_

_I leap off the cliff and soar into the air. Running is beautiful, but my love for flying is even stronger. My wings flap strongly and with ease as I twist and turn in the air. Laughter erupts from my throat as I rocket high, high, high, then dive downwards. Nothing can make this moment, these feelings, vanish._

Until something grabs my shoulder and shakes me awake. My eyes fly open. Jerry is standing above me.

"Hey there sleepyhead. Time for lunch." I stretch and yawn loudly. One quick look at the clock informs me that I have been napping for about an hour. We had reviewed math for a while, but I could barely stay awake, so Mr. Bornyard assigned me a couple chapters to read and said I could rest for a while.

"You got out of class early." I mumble. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and my vision clears.

"Yeah, beat the traffic." Jerry shrugs. I yawn again and Jerry eyes me, looking concerned.

"You look pooped. Did you get any sleep last night?" He asks, helping me into my wheelchair.

"Not much," I confess with another yawn. Jerry half-smiles and for some reason, my cheeks heat up upon seeing it.

"You should get to bed earlier, love." He murmurs gently. He is still serious despite his small smile. I try to read what else is in his eyes- something, I know it, but I fail once again. What do his eyes truly say? What emotions am I blind to?

"I try, Jerry. I'm just busy." I sigh, glad that I don't have to lie to him. He nods and changes the subject to something happier. The mood immediately lightens, and we exit the classroom, straying behind the others.

We make it to lunch later than usual and while I'm waiting in line, the mainstream kids enter the cafeteria for first lunch. I instinctively tense up as two girls, both blond and maybe a year older than I, get in line behind Jerry and I. They are too caught up in their conversation, however, to notice our presence. Jerry and I have stopped talking for the moment, so I end up listening in on their discussion; I assume Jerry is doing the same, as he looks very alert.

"So Caitlyn, guess what I'm doing for the talent show this year?" The girl with curly hair asks her friend, whom I'm guessing is Caitlyn.

"Talent show?" Caitlyn looks confused, bringing her long hair in front of her shoulder. Her hands then move down to play with one of her sweater sleeves. My eyes narrow curiously as I realize she is sweating. I glance down at my jacket, which covers my own scars. Even in the warmth of North Carolina, I keep my scars hidden with a jacket. I have become used to the heat, so it no longer bothers me, though I still receive odd looks from strangers.

Could she…? I shake my head. No, it's not possible…right? She probably just likes the sweater. It's doubtful she uses it to cover anything…right? I force my attention back to the two friends, and see Caitlyn is receiving a strange look from her friend.

"Weren't you, like, paying attention this morning? Ms. Carney announced it. And like hey, do not play with that sweater. It rips, like really easily. Why you wearing it, anyway? You're like, sweating your ass off, girl."

"Sorry, I guess I wasn't listening. And it's all about fashion, right?" Caitlyn mutters. Though she smiles on the outside, her eyes say differently. If her friend notices, she doesn't comment.

"Girl, for being the daughter of fashion model, you sure don't know shit." I narrow my eyes and Sam keeps talking

"Yes, it is all about fashion. We eat, breathe, talk, sweat, and live fashion. But you have got to keep up, Caity. For example, sweaters aren't in right now. We're going through a cool October, so that means capris, cut-off sleeve shirts, sweater jackets; that kind of stuff. Not sweaters. Don't you keep up to date?"

"Of course, Sam. Sorry I don't have time to buy new clothes ever single time Lily Haral says to." Caitlyn says with an edge to her voice. Jerry pushes me up in line, but we still say nothing. We're too interested in the conversation.

"Oh and F.Y.I., Sam: I'm doing the talent show this year. I've wanted to for years. I'm tired of it always being about you. What about me?" Caitlyn retorts. Her expression bears anger, while Sam just looks exasperated.

"Lindy Harold. When will you get her name right? And you? Singing? Ha, I'd like to see you try."

"I don't care what her damn name is. I hate her sense of fashion. Anyway, did I say singing? No, I'm dancing. I've been taking lessons since I was six. But you wouldn't know that, would you? All you care about is my mom and mansion. It's always been like that. Even the guys only care about my money and looks. All I want is a real friend. Is that so much to ask for?" I tune out their conversation so I can order my lunch. I must say I'm amazed. I have never come across the girls alone, but I am proud of Caitlyn for sticking up for herself and being honest to Sam. I could easily tell she was really trying to keep her anger inside at first, and I really don't blame her for blowing up.

Jerry and I head for our table. Jerry keeps glancing behind us; I assume that like me, he wants to hear the end of the argument. I take a peek behind us as well; Caitlyn and Sam are standing up against the wall out of people's way. Sam looks defeated, and Caitlyn is the opposite: triumphant. Caitlyn smiles smugly at Sam and saunters away, leaving the longhaired teenager in a frozen, stunned state. I smile in approval and twist back around. Jerry guides me out of the line, abandoning the two teenagers for good.

We sit at our usual table and Jerry begin

"I'm-I'm so glad Caitlyn f-finally stood up to her. I can't sta-stand Sam. She's in my hi-history class and is a fake, show-off, and massive flirt. But get this: she only pretend to be a teacher's p-pet and love everyone. Once she's out of, out of their earshot, she goes back to gossiping. Even though sh-she has a boyfriend, she plays it up w-with every guy." Jerry stammers, his body trembling. Jerry has not stuttered for a few weeks, so I'm surprised, but I make sure not to show it.

"Wow. Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure she has slept with other guys and cheated on her boyfriend. She makes it pretty clear." I shake my head in disgust.

. "Have you heard her sing? She's awful but the jud-judges only let her in because she's-she's po-popular." Jerry continues to rant about Samantha, but I tune him out because I am thinking about the talent show. Singing has always been a passion of mine, and I have a YouTube channel with me singing favorite songs of mine. I'm fairly popular, and I've gotten more praise than hate. Besides, the judges can't turn me down because I'm in the special-needs class-that's a mistake they'd regret making forever.

"Hey Ava, are you listening?" I blink and shake my head.

"Sorry, I was thinking about the talent show."

"Oh?"

"Yeah…" I hesitate. Should I tell Jerry about my idea? Wait…he's my best friend. Why am I questioning whether or not I should tell him something as simple as this?

"That would be awesome, Ava! I love your voice." I jerk my head and meet his eyes, confusion probably written all over my expression.

"You've seen my videos on YouTube?" Jerry touches my arm gently.

"Of course. I found you through suggested videos. Your cover of Breathe No More by Evanescence has 20,000 views alone.

"Are yo-you serious?" I stammer.

"Yep. I thought you knew. When were you last on YouTube?" Jerry tilts his head to the side.

"Not since April, so about six months. I don't get a chance to sit down on the computer. I'm always busy with the kids." Unfortunately, this is true. With my parents, older brother, and two sisters almost always gone, I'm left to babysit the kids. Not only that, but when Christin isn't home on weeknights, I'm expected to make dinner. As much as I care about them the work I go through to babysit my brothers and sisters is strenuous. Breaks don't come often.

"Oh, that's too bad. I would love to hear more. Hey, do you want to audition? The sign up sheets are over there." Jerry points to a table pushed up against a wall. A stack of papers is on it, but it is slowly thinning as a student comes up now and then to grab a sheet.

I hesitate. "I'll think about it."

"Very well. It's up to you. I hope you do it." Jerry replies.

The bell sounds. We wait for most of the students to leave before my class begins the journey back to class. However, I linger behind and park by the table. When Jerry has turned the corner, I grab a sheet and fold it up. Then I slip the piece of paper into my jacket pocket and hurry towards my classmates.

When I get back to class, I am surprised to find several adults in the room. There is the principal, Mr. Candal, two doctors, a woman I don't know, and Rachel's adoptive parents, Alice and Lydia. Alice and Lydia are both wonderful women. Even though it must be tough for Rachel to live without a male figure in her life, I'm glad she still has wonderful parents who really love her.

Lydia and Alice are standing side by side crying softly. Mr. Candal is talking to them, a grave expression on. I roll towards the group, but freeze mid-wheel when one of the doctors says the words, "suicidal thoughts." Jerry is on my left, and he too stops.

"What's going on?" I demand, my eyes wide. I thought Rachel was absent today because of a doctor appointment, not due to her recently discovered depression.

Lyida turns to me and wipes several tears away.

"Ava, Jerry. You guys don't know yet, do you? Rachel…well, she's not going to be at school for a good while. She was diagnosed with depression this weekend. Severe depression." The blond buries her face into Alice's shoulder as my heart breaks in two. Alice pats her wife's shoulder comfortingly, but the pain is clear in her eyes. Suddenly I see the sadness in her eyes shift to anger.

"Ava, is Rachel bullied? Mr. Candal is claiming there is no bullying in this school, but I want an eye witness." My mouth falls open. That's damn bullshit! Why the hell does he say there is none? Bullying in our school is more obvious than the fact that I have one leg.

"There's bullying for sure." I respond tightly, clenching my hands into fists.

"See? I told you." Lydia growls and glares at the princi. He frowns.

"Ms. Stanley, I assure you my school does not have bullying."

"Then why in God's name does our ten year-old, sweet little girl have depression? Why is she suicidal? She's been coping well for a while, might I say. I have no clue why anyone would torment a kind girl for something she didn't ask for. Tell me sir: does your school really not have bullies?" Lydia snarls. Her face is beet red.

Mr. Candal coughs, looking nervous. In a quick spurt of words he mumbles, "Miss, I cannot tell you why your child has been diagnosed with depression. I cannot tell you why what happened to her happened. I cannot even tell you why bullying exists. But I can tell you, though, that I do not tolerate bullying. If I happen to witness it, I do stop it. It's unfortunate your daughter has to go through this. I will talk to the people who she says are mean to her." I narrow my eyes as I realize there is no genuine concern or even truthfulness in the principal's expression. I study the woman beside him, and then it hits me-she's someone from the school board. Lately she has been coming here more and more often

Now it all makes sense. The asshole is covering up what is so plainly evident! If he doesn't, he'll get his ass fired for sure.

"As a parent Roger, I will make sure there is a stop to this. You are telling me that Ava is lying, let alone my daughter. I don't believe a second of your goddamn lies. Let's go, Alice. I've had enough of this shit." Lydia spins around and marches out the door, her wife right behind her. Right before Alice exits the room, however, she walks over to me. She hands me a small card.

"This is where Rachel is staying. She wants to see you, Ava. You're her hero and honestly, it doesn't surprise me." Alice smiles tiredly and then departs. I examine the card.

**Blue River Rehabilitation Center**

**Offers therapy and medical treatment for youth K-12**

**152 Rosebush Avenue, Raleigh North Carolina 43436**

**366-721-3439**

Jerry rests his hand on my shoulder.

"I can take you Wednesday after school, if you want." I nod, unable to say anything. What I just learned is beyond astonishing, beyond infuriating. It's even painful. Mr. Candal acts like he has no idea bullying often causes depression. But he's wrong…he's so wrong.

It is because of the torment I go through everyday that I am suicidal and depressed; and it is certainly the reason that underneath my jacket sleeve is a canvas of scars created by a deadly yet welcoming paintbrush.


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm going out to play!" Penny declares. She's standing beside me in our room, dressed in jeans and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt.

"Who are you going to be with?" I'm working on Chemistry homework, but I stop writing so I can listen to Penelope.

"Probably Eli and Evan," She replies, referring to her two best friends as well as our next-door neighbors. Eli and Evan are identical twins her age, and absolute sweethearts. I have babysat them before, and they adore me. I wish they didn't go to private school, because the kids could sure learn something from them.

"Have fun and be back before diner. Mom should be home then." I tell her. Penny nods and runs out. I sigh. Both my roommates are out, leaving me alone. I try to focus on homework, but the voices immediately fade in. A chorus of dark chuckles rings in my ears.

_Hello again, Ava._ A deep voice purrs.

"Leave me alone," I spit. Without their encouragement, I find myself rolling away from the desk, to the top drawer of my nightstand.

_Good, now open the drawer. _One orders gently.

"N-no." I try and fight back, but I am too weak. Laughs as loud as thunder seems to echo throughout the room. I clutch my head as their taunts slice through my mind.

_Worthless!_

_Emo._

_You should be dead._

_Unloved, pathetic weakling._

_Kill yourself._

"Shut up!" I screech, but my order is disobeyed. I still open the drawer and move aside pencils and papers. Hidden deep in my drawer is the switchblade. My eyes gaze at it eagerly, and the voices cheer me on. Trembling, I snatch the knife and pull it out.

Once again I have lost.

I only want pain.

Pain is my distraction from everything.

Pain stops the voices.

Pain numbs.

Pain helps.

I press the silver blade to my scar-covered wrist.

_Yes, that's it. Cut yourself. It'll help. It always helps. _Only one voice speaks now, a female. Her tone is gentle and encouraging, and I see no reason to argue with her.

Instead, I dig the blade into my flesh. Within seconds, blood seeps out of the wound and slides down my forearm. But it does nothing. One cut is never enough. The jeering comes back.

_Worthless._

Slice. Drip. Drip.

_Freak._

Three more cuts. Slice. Slice. Slice.

_Never enough. Never…enough…never…never…enough…_

I squeeze my eyes shut and plunge the knife into my skin. And then it comes. A burning sensation flies up my arm, and I relax. Keeping the box of tissues close in case of blood loss, I watch the blood leak out.

The words and voices fade away, and a massive weight is lifted off of me.

Pain has never felt so good.


	9. Chapter 9

"How have you been feeling lately, Ava?" Dr. Lee asks as I step on the scale. Seeing the number, he mutters and scribbles on his pad. I am at the doctor's for my usual check-up on tumors. When I was eight, I had a large brain tumor, but it randomly went away a few months after being found. However, the doctors have kept a close eye on me; they say it has a 75% chance of coming back as a fatal tumor. Cancerous tumors are rare for people with NF, but I'm also at a large risk of it coming back and giving me cancer. I have never told Jerry this; instead, late at night I wonder about me getting cancer or what would happen if it were to return as a benign, yet deadly tumor. Usually when I think about that, I can't sleep for the rest of the night.

"You've lost quite a bit of weight. You're about seven or eight pounds under average. Has your diet changed at all lately?" Dr. Lee looks at me with suspicious eyes. I use every bit of energy to ignore the voices that say what I already know: he's lying and I'm fat. I want to blame them, too; say I don't eat sometimes just to shut up their taunts, especially when I'm unable to cut. But I can't say that because who would believe me?

"No, I'm eating normally." I lie, and then quickly change the subject. I only admit I'm in pain when it comes to tumors, as I learned my lesson when I was eleven and told no one about my leg tumor. In the end, it always saves a lot of time and money and I hate being a burden to my parents in the first place.

"I've been feeling strange lately. I'm always really tired. And I've also been getting these headaches. They always occur in the morning, and they vary from mild to a severe migraine. That's been going on for a month."

"Oh? For about a month? Do you feel nauseous as well?"

I think for a second. "No, not that I can recall."

"Interesting. This is the first symptom you had when you were eight, before we found the tumor. Headaches can often be the only symptom of a brain tumor, especially if has returned." My eyes go wide and Dr. Lee must see my expression because he smiles comfortingly and pats my shoulder.

"Don't worry, dear. Nothing is positive yet. It may just be a coincidence. However, can you give me an estimate of how long they last?" I have no idea why Dr. Lee would tell me it's just a coincidence when there's a higher than 50% chance of the tumor returning…but I don't bother pointing this out to him. He's only been a doctor for five years making him fairly new, but he is intelligent. I think his main issue is he doesn't want to admit to patients what could be wrong if he doesn't know for sure yet. He doesn't want them to worry.

"Anytime between 15 m-minutes to two ho-hours." I stammer. The fear has knotted in my stomach, but I don't voice it. Instead, I listen as Dr. Lee tells us we shouldn't fret, but we do need to have another check-up in a few weeks to keep any eye on what very well be the recurring tumor. He says we'll schedule any MRI next time if we need to. I'm not prescribed medicine, as that doesn't help the pain, but he does offer sympathy. He knows the headaches are anything but mild.

On the way home, I can't help but remember the day that changed my life. The day my tumor was discovered.

_The laughter of kids rang in my ears as I raced across the playground at school. I was playing tag with my friends, and Shannon was It. Her orange hair blew behind her head as she raced toward me. I laughed and sped up, dodging kids. I took a mighty leap from the asphalt to the soft grass that surrounded the playground. Straight ahead, the ground sloped into a short hill with flat ground at the bottom. The grass was only a few feet away; I knew I would make it._

_I was wrong, though._

_I didn't land, let alone land safely. Instead, I found myself tumbling, tumbling. Down the hill I rolled, letting out soft cries of pain as my thigh sharply smashed into the ground several times. When I finally stopped rolling, I sat up, clenching my thigh. I was scratched up and my left elbow bothered me. But none of that compared to the ache in my left thigh. For about six months, I had a massive lump that spread across nearly the whole length of my thigh. I had kept it hidden, though, because the hospital bills were high. I was only eleven yet I had already had ten surgeries, more than my eight siblings combined. _

_Plus, I didn't want to put stress on my new step-mom Christin, who was four months pregnant. I wanted her to like me, and I already feared she didn't. _

_But this pain was unbearable for my eleven year-old self. Tears stung my eyes as I clutched the injured limb. The dress I had been wearing to cover up my lump was torn and bunched up, revealing my secret. _

"_Ava, are you okay?" Shannon demanded, breaking me from my thoughts. Her eyes widened as they gazed over what my hands were trying to massage. I watched as more classmates gathered around, asking the same question as Shannon. They knew me as the kid who was absent a lot because of her health. No one knew how bad it was, though, and they didn't yet care. They were all still innocent. Simply too nice._

_I nodded weakly in response to their questions. The looks on their face clearly told me they knew I was lying. Then I spotted Jessica. She pushed her way through the crowd until she reached me. Immediately my best friend knelt down, the concern flashing in her brilliant green eyes. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I smiled softly at her, tears watering in my eyes._

"_It'll be okay, I promise." Jessica whispered. She was telling me the same thing I had told her after I saved her life and she had broken her arm. I had stayed by her side in the hospital and murmured those same words…now she was doing the same for me._

"_Ava…is that a…a tumor?" My teacher stuttered. She knew about my condition but didn't talk about it; however, this time she couldn't help but stare at the lump on my thigh. I looked down at the ground, nodding weakly._

_Within minutes and after a failed attempt to walk, an ambulance and my mom were called. By then, the intense pain had numbed my leg. I was shivering and felt really dizzy. 'Is this what Jessica felt like when I saved her?' I wondered at one point. Finally, the crowd was cleared, leaving my parents, the nurse, teacher, Jessica, and myself. She refused to leave and climbed in the ambulance with me, Christin right behind her. Dad followed us in his car._

_A few hours later, I was checked in and x-rayed. I sat in the room as the doctor talked to us._

"_Our x-rays have shown that there is a massive tumor in Ava's left leg, directly on her thigh. The tumor has not reached its full growth yet, but it is obviously still painful when it with a force. It's also spreading and developing, fast. Ava, how long have you had this?" The doctor asked. I bit my lip._

"_A-a while." I muttered._

"_As in? A few days? Weeks?" He pushes. There was irritation in his voice, which made me even more scared of him._

"_About five or six months. B-but it didn't really didn't bother me. Honest. This is the first time it's hurt this much. I've never fallen on it before. Not like I did today." I replied softly. My words were true, but my excuse was not enough. My mom stood up, looking broken. Dad looked at me with sadness in his eyes._

"_Ava, don't you realize what not telling anyone has done? Your tumor is benign, but it's still painful and seemingly dangerous. It can spread to your whole leg." The doctor was about to continue when Christin interrupted him._

"_Can't you do surgery to remove it?" For just a split second in time, hope lingered in the air._

"_I-I do not think surgery will work. It's risky. We'd be going too far down." The hope fell to the ground, shattering to a million pieces._

"_Then what do you suggest?" I whispered._

"_Amputation." The doctor responded, pain in his voice. He had known me since I was seven, and this hurt him as much as it hurt us. The world froze as we each took in that one word. One word that meant everything and anything. One word all because of me._

_One word that changed my life._

"Ava, wake up." Christin murmurs softly, shaking me. I sit up and blink away sleep. A massive yawn escapes me.

"Yeah?" I mumble.

"I'm going in to get Penny. I'll be right back." Christin informs me. I nod and glance at the building my mom is heading into. "Dana and Lisa's Child Care Center" is what the sign out front reads. The building is big, and lays on a long stretch of grass. In the back, you can see bits of a playground, and some random neighborhood far behind that. After Prim's birth, Christin, when she had to go back to work, was able to find a place for her to be taken care of. The prices are low and everyone in town takes their kids here. Penny has preschool in the morning, and afterwards she either goes to daycare, courtesy of the kids' mom, or she'll go the their house until we get home from school, depending on their own schedule.

I wait in silence for a few minutes. Even in these few minutes, I find myself battling the voices that sing in my head.

"Please go away, " I whisper, my voice laced with desperation. The only response I receive is a chorus of laughter and more encouragement to act on the duty of killing myself.

"No. I can't." I murmur, shaking my head.

"_And why not? No one would care_." They all sneer this simultaneously. To my disappointment and their enjoyment, I am unable to find an answer at first. I search every inch of my brain for some reason to live, for someone to live for, and it's not until I glance up and see the little blonde girl bounding down the steps, teddy bear in arm, that I find my reply.

Penny. My four year old sister is innocent and sweet, full of life. I have to look out for her. Of course, I have Lunetta to look out for too. My job is to protect my little sisters. That's got to be a good enough reason…right?

"_Yeah right, Ava. They don't even look up to you. Both Lunetta and Penny hate you._" A female voice chuckles darkly.

"Liar!" I snarl. But I still close my eyes and shake my head in defeat. Maybe they're right. It's not like Lunetta stood up for me the other day, and Penny rarely talks to me. I bet they only pity me, and that's why they're nice. They probably think I'm pathetic and feel bad for me.

The voices die as my mom unlocks the car and Penny climbs in. I help her into her car seat.

"How was school?" I say softly. Even if she hates me, I don't dislike her. I can't help but still be nice to her. I love her, despite how she may feel about me. Nothing will change that.

"Fun. I glad we using dis car today." Penny's improper grammar just adds to her normal cuteness. I chuckle; Penny hates what we use to drive everyone around: the twelve-seating van. I don't blame her, because she always manages to get stuck in the front beside Zemson and Verena, who fight a lot.

Twenty minutes later, I've not only learned about Penny's exciting morning at preschool, but we have also arrived home. I'm eager to get inside, because sitting in the car makes me really jittery for some reason. I open the door and jump out. Christin hands me my crutches-I need to use them once in a while, to keep me stable-and I hop up the front steps and into the house. I am at the elevator when Christin calls for me.

Sighing, I turn away from the elevator and slowly make my way toward the kitchen.

"Yeah?" I see my mom is busy organizing her purse. She's in her nurse's uniform. All days except Wednesdays Christin works either morning evening shift as an obstetrician. She goes whenever they needf her; it's kind of like call, but they only call for her during those two times. Depending on her schedule, she also spends up to three days working her second job as a model. She's not home often, but has definitely worked for the money we have.

Of course, this means we have to fend for ourselves most of the time but I, personally, do not mind It's been going on for four years now and it isn't hard nor a big deal. All of us older ones could easily look after the younger kids for a week if we had to-not that it's wanted, that is. But I think it altogether just gives us an air of independence. People look at me with such pity and ignorance, so when I make my own dinner, I prove to others as well as myself that I'm capable of more than they'll ever think.

"I've been called in. Watch your siblings?" Even though she ends it as a question, I know this is an order. After all, this is simply expected of me. I don't know why she even bothers asking anymore, because watching them is second nature.

"What should I make for supper?" I ask. If I watch my siblings, I have to actually babysit. I can't lock myself in my room, because Penny might get into something dangerous or Zemson will try and start a fight. There's always someone to watch; something to do. Not to mention the chores; we don't have assigned ones, but most us know to just help out.

"Pot roast is on the counter and should be ready in 20 minutes." Christin replies. She slings her purse over her shoulder and turns around, heading out of the kitchen. I hop after her and watch in envy as Penny flies down the stairs, calling for her birth mom. Christin stops and picks up her daughter. A squeal escapes from Penny as she is spun around.

"I'll see you later, my darling." Christin sings and kisses her cheek. Penny is set down and she is beaming. Not only is she the youngest, but also being the actual daughter of Christin has her as the classic mama's girl. Sure, it hurts to see how close they are. Especially when you know you'll never have that type of relationship with your mother.

But I love Penny, and she deserves it; besides, I can't do anything about it. I know my place in the house, and it is certainly not as a mama's girl.


	10. Chapter 10

"Ready?" Jerry asks. I nod and together, we head out of the classroom and down the hallway. The bell rings, but we are already in the commons, away from the mob of students in the hallways. It's Wednesday and I've been both uneasy and excited about seeing Rachel; seeing her is all I've thought about all day.

We quickly exit the school, and Jerry slows to a walk beside me. We talk about nothing in particular as we near the parking lot. Suddenly, there is a monstrous roar of thunder, causing Jerry and I to jump. Even the ground shakes slightly. Shortly following, a heavy sheet of rain plummets to the earth. Bitter rain bites at exposed skin and I pull my hood up, though it is quickly soaked.

"Jerry! Code red! Code red!" I screech. "Code red" is the phrase I use when I need him to push me. We don't use it often, but in rain like this I want to move faster for obvious reasons. Jerry chuckles and grabs onto the handles of my chair. I glance back at him and laugh upon seeing how thoroughly soaked he is-rain attracts to Jerry like paper clips to magnets. Today is no different. In fact, it's managed to make him look like he has naturally curly hair.

We reach his car, so I quickly hop out of my chair and slide into the passenger seat. Jerry puts my chair in the back, and then slides in beside me. He messes with his hair, using a comb to brush it back.

"How do I look?" He asks me, turning his head so I can study him. When I do, butterflies seize my stomach because let's face it: he is hot. But no way am I telling him that.

"Great." I answer truthfully. Jerry smiles and hugs me and then pulls away. He looks at me for several seconds, his gaze so focused that I can't look away. My heart pounds faster when he does not look away after what must be a full minute of staring at me. It pounds even faster when he starts to say something, but stops. This happens several times. I wait impatiently, my fingers tapping on my knee nervously. Finally, he speaks.

"I…um, I brought your crutches." He stammers. I get this sad feeling, but I'm not sure why. What was I expecting him to say? Why'd I get butterflies in the first place?

"Thanks dude." I turn to look out the window, the questions swirling around in my mind. Jerry starts the car and backs out of his spot. Fortunately, we make it out of the lot just before buses pull out.

"So are you glad to see Rachel?" He asks, turning the radio knob to our favorite rock station. The volume is very low, so we have background music as we converse. Just a little over a year ago, Jerry had his permit, but his anxiety kept him from being able to drive. The thought of him taking someone other than Kimi and talking to them never crossed our mind. But Jerry was determined to get his license, so he drove for hours with his aunt. He even passed the test the first time, although it was a few months before I came with him in the car alone. So to say that he can now drive, talk, and listen to music, is incredible. Jerry has improved so much since I've known him.

"Yeah…"I trail off and stare out my window. Rain droplets stream down the glass in different directions, and several move into the shape of a heart. The heart quickly falls apart, but I can't help but feel puzzled by what I just saw. Is it supposed to mean, and what? After all, since when do raindrops make an actual shape? Most of all, why a heart of all things?

Looking up, I catch that Jerry is singing under his breath. His voice is nearly inaudible, and my ears strain to catch the lyrics.

I recognize that he's singing Broken by Seether, one of my favorite songs. I sway back and fourth to his voice, not even caring that the fact it is a love song could mean something. I glance at my best friend when he takes a deep breath, and gasp: his eyes are painted with sadness and he's frowning. He is tapping his fingers repeatedly, a habit he does when troubled.

I lay my hand on his, ignoring the weird sparks that shoot up my arm. Instead of relaxing, Jerry takes my hand, squeezing it gently. I flinch and pull away out of instinct. Why does he want to hold my hand? Why did I do that in the first place? What was my gesture supposed to mean?

"Jerry?" I whisper. He doesn't respond, but I can tell he's still agitated. He pulls into the parking lot of Blue River Rehabilitation Center. Jerry turns the car off and glances at me briefly, not allowing our eyes to meet.

"Let's go in, shall we?" He says softly, his expression dark. I nod and we get out of the car. Once I'm situated with my crutches, the two of us head into the building.

xxXxx

Rachel is sitting on her bed, staring blankly at one of the white walls that surround her rom. The door creaks and she jumps, but upon glancing at Jerry and I, her expression lights up.

"Ava!" I move over and sit down in one of the armchairs. Rachel crawls into my lap and I hug her in greeting, knowing words are not necessary. She leans against my chest and I stroke her long brown hair. Right away I notice it doesn't have the usual soft feel; instead, her hair feels greasy and uncombed. The smell that radiates off her tells me it's been a while since she has had a shower. I press my hands against her sides and guess it's been a day-or more-since she last ate. Before I know it I am shivering, something that happens when I get really scared.

"Rachel, hey buddy. How are you?" I say, trying to keep my voice calm.

"Fine." The tone in her voice is hard and cold; her expression has changed once more. It doesn't take a genius to know she is lying.

"You sure?" I press. Rachel nods, but within seconds she is crying. I rub her back and murmur soothing words to her, all the while wondering how such pain can be in her heart.

"Are you Ms. Ava?" I freeze when a French accent breaks Rachel's soft whimpers and my words of comfort. Looking up, I recognize the woman as a nurse. Rachel, who also gathers this information, buries her head into my shoulder. Outside, another loud clash of thunder sounds, giving the room a gloomy feeling.

"Yes, nice to meet you. That's my friend, Jerry." I nod at Jerry, who is sitting quietly in the corner of the room. He smiles politely and receives a nod in return. Looking back, I eye the woman in suspicion. Why is Rachel so scared of her? The nurse has friendly green eyes and a tired but kind smile. So why is Rachel cowering in fear? The nurse moves closer to us, though she only goes to a cabinet. I watch her pull out medicine bottles and start to prepare something. Not looking at us, she speaks once more.

"You as well, Ms. Ava. My name is Lucy. I'm Rachel's main nurse." Lucy turns around and watches Rachel for a minute or two. Furrowing her eyebrows, she walks toward me and kneels next to my ear.

"Would you mind coming out in the hall for a second, dear? I need to talk to you." There is urgency in her voice so I accept and leave the ten year-old in the chair. Jerry comes over, knowing to watch over. Before leaving, I murmur to Rachel,

"I'll be right back, Hun. Jerry's going to be with you for a little bit, mkay?" Rachel signals that she heard and grabbing my crutches, I follow the nurse out of the room. I shut the door behind me.

"Why is Rachel afraid of you?" I demand before she can say anything. Lucy sighs.

"She's…afraid of us all. But Ava, it's not just that. Here's the thing: Rachel won't eat, she won't bathe, and she won't talk. We tried to force-feed her and she found a way to throw it back up. We are going to start injecting medicine into her because she refuses to take her pills. All she basically does is sit on her bed, getting up only to use the bathroom. It's scary, and we're going to take new steps to try and help her.

"However, Rachel talks to you. You're the first one she's talked to while here. She let you hug her. Alice and Lydia, her parents, didn't even receive that trust. I don't know what it is Ava-I have no clue why you're different-but you need to realize that it's crucial." Lucy stops for a second, probably to let me take this all in. Needless to say, I'm stunned, but I focus on Lucy and wait for her to continue.

"I know this is a huge request of me, but could you try and convince Rachel to do all of what she isn't-talking, eating, bathing? If she starts doing those things, then we will have taken one mighty step to recovery. Plus, it might have her open up to say, a doctor, and that will be the best thing. Of course, you can stop once that happens-though I think you will keep going- but right now you are our only hope, Ava." There is desperation in the nurse's voice. I don't even need to consider her request, nor do I hesitate.

"Of course I'll try." I promise. Lucy sighs with relief.

"Oh thank you so much. This could potentially save her life. Now, my first task for you is to make her eat. She's barely eaten a thing since she got here-heaven knows why-and it's making things so much harder. We're thinking she has a potential eating disorder, but it's hard to tell yet. Anyway, I'm going to have somebody bring up something in a little bit and I won't be in there since, ya know, she doesn't like me. If you can get her to eat this meal alone, then you have a victory right there. If you convince her to start eating again in general, you deserve a damn medal. Good luck sweetness and thank you so much. I'll be in this hallway-there's a button on Rachel's bed you can press if you need me." Lucy hugs me real tight, and I accept her hug reluctantly. Did I really just let them set Rachel's life in my hands?

I re-enter the room and spot Jerry sitting in one of the two chairs instead of on the floor this time. He's watching Rachel curiously. But the ten year-old is doing nothing. She's simply curled up on her bed, brown hair hanging over her face. She glances up at my arrival. I make my way back to where I had been sitting, pulling her into my lap again. Rachel seems less relaxed this time, almost like she doesn't want to be with me. I can tell she wants to say something, so I wait for her to speak.

"What did you talk about?" Inwardly I flinch at the bitterness in the ten year-old's voice.

"Well…Rachel, Lucy told me you haven't been doing anything since you came here, liking eating and talking. Is there a reason for that?" Rachel doesn't reply, nor does her expression falter.

"Rachel, listen to me. You need to eat and talk. You need to listen to them. That's the only way you can get out of here sooner, you here me? Don't you want to get out?" I must have said the right thing because Rachel bursts into tears again, and I figure it isn't because I was too harsh. I wipe away the tears gently and wrap my arms around her.

"Ava, I hate it here. Everything is so miserable. The doctors all say they understand, but they don't. They are lying. Ava please, can I leave with you? Please?" Rachel chokes these words out, her sobs overcoming the ability to speak.

"Shhh sweetheart. It'll be okay. They might not understand; most of them probably don't. But they _want _to. They want to understand; more than that, though, they want to help you. More than anything. Myself, your parents, the nurses-we all want those thoughts to leave, the thoughts that you can't seem to rid of. We all want the feelings of self-hatred and worthlessness to go away. Of course, we want you to come back as well. The only way that's going to happen, though, is if you do what they say."

"All I have to do is what they tell me to?"

"Yes, but don't lie. If you aren't feeling better but tell them the opposite, you may get out of here sooner, but it won't make you feel better. I want you to feel better, though, and so do the doctors. And it won't be easy, Rach, but I know you can do it. You are stronger than this. You will beat your depression." I tell her softly. Rachel looks at me. Her brown eyes are big, clouded with trust and love.

"Promise?" She whispers. I let go of our hug and place my hands on her shoulders. Looking straight in her eyes, I murmur the two words that will hopefully change her future.

"I promise."


End file.
